Free The Free Kingdoms (Book 2) by Michael Wallace

uncomfortably in his seat. A look of dismay passed through the young man’s eyes, as if he understood at last that he would be married to a woman he didn’t know. His brother felt nothing for this girl, Whelan noted with surprise.
    Serena finished. The last note hung on the air, replaced only by the shrill cries from hundreds of birds lifting from nests on the towers to hunt insects at twilight. And then Whelan began a great shout and applause that rippled through the gathered lords, knights, and wizards.
    When the applause died and Serena began anew, a soft voice said over Whelan’s shoulder, “A good match, don’t you think, young prince?” Whelan turned, startled, to see Markal Talebearer watching him with a shrewd look on his face.
    “She has a beautiful voice,” Whelan said with a shrug, unwilling to commit his opinions further. He knew little of the man, but guessed there was a reason some called him the Meddler. Still, he admired the man for no other reason than his well-known disagreements with Chantmer the Tall, a man Whelan found impossible to trust.
    “It must be difficult as the younger brother of the king, to watch him grow into his power, instead of the boy and brother you remember.”
    “I don’t envy Daniel. The burdens of a king are too great for my shoulders.”
    “Yes, I imagine you might think so. For now. But there are those who will whisper treason in the ear of a bored prince.”
    Whelan frowned, wondering whether Markal hoped to trick him into some sort of confession of crimes. “And if they do, I will kill them like the dogs they are.”
    Markal said, “Brave words for a young man with little training in the sword.”
    “I’ve been trained,” Whelan said hotly. Indeed, he could beat his brothers soundly, and did well when sparring with the king’s guard. He tried to turn his attention back to the girl’s singing and masterful work with the harp.
    “Training by the king’s guard has value, yes,” Markal agreed, stroking his beard as if a thought had just occurred to him, and not been calculated days in advance, as Whelan suspected. “But not all training is physical.”
    “What do you suggest? The Brotherhood?”
    “Your grandfather was captain of the Knight’s Temperate,” Markal said. “A great man. Your mother would be proud to see you follow in her father’s footprints.”
    Ah, so that was it. The Order of the Wounded Hand worried about Daniel’s brothers and hoped to turn them away from the king’s side where they might work mischief. For Whelan and Roderick, the Brotherhood, perhaps the Order for Ethan. His younger brother had always had a certain bookish way about him and might prove adept with the magical arts.
    The idea held no small appeal to Whelan and he wasn’t so proud to argue with the wizard for pointing him in one direction or another. Indeed, the strongest of the voices that whispered to him from Soultrup urged much the same thing. “Thank you, Talebearer. I will consider your advice.”
    The wizard nodded and turned his attention back to the music.
    King Daniel married Serena na Brach two days later. The following morning Daniel rode south with Roderick, Chantmer the Tall, and several knights to resolve a dispute between the tiny kingdom of Estmor and Rathlek, a powerful neighbor on its southern border.
    The young queen remained behind.
    The only claim to honor Whelan had over the following weeks is that he never intended to seduce the king’s wife.
    #
    “Whelan, may I speak with you for a moment?” Serena asked.
    He’d spotted her approaching across the courtyard, but he’d known she would come. How did he know? Someone whispered to him as he polished Soultrup next to the well.
    She is afraid and lonely, the voice told him. She hopes to make you her friend.  
    The voice was the second of the two voices that struggled for control over the souls trapped in his sword, the voice Whelan trusted the least. He didn’t trust it partly for the chancy